


The Best Memories

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Flying Doctors
Genre: Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Goodbye Sex, Het, Missing Scene, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 22:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: Chris says goodbye to Cooper's Crossing.





	The Best Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Written because there's no way Chris wouldn't have gone back to Cooper's Crossing to at least say goodbye. 
> 
> Theme : song lyrics  
> Prompt: Any, Any, "Bad ideas, make the best memories" (Bad Ideas by Alle Farben)  
> http://comment-fic.livejournal.com/835595.html?thread=104545035#t104545035

Despite what she'd told her dad about not going back to Cooper's Crossing, Chris knows it won't be that easy. Sure, her house is base housing, belonging to the service and came furnished when she'd moved in, so it's not like she has a whole lot to transport. But all her personal items are still there and she refuses to leave it to just anyone to pack them up for her - she knows Kate would do a good job but while she loves Paula, that doesn't mean she wants her rummaging through all her things. Plus, there are goodbyes to be said and she rather thinks half the town might just follow her to Melbourne if they thought she'd done them out of a leaving do. 

So she goes back, just for a few days. 

Word of her leaving has reached the town before she does, so there's any amount of sorrowful conversations and teary hugs. That's even before the farewell bash that Vic and Nancy lay on in the pub, full of more hugs and tears and speeches from people she's treated, people she's worked with, people who have been in a lot of ways closer than her family. She cries and she promises to stay in touch and then she goes back to her little house, refusing Kate's offer of staying with her and Geoff, telling her she wants one last night in her own place. 

She's sitting on the couch, looking through a box of random photographs when there's a knock at the door. She frowns because she wasn't expecting anyone, has already said all her goodbyes, but she goes to answer it anyway and somehow she's not at all surprised by what she finds when she opens the door. 

Tom Callaghan, with a bottle of wine in his hand and a sheepish grin on his face. 

"What are you doing here?" She asks the question with a smile as she steps back to open the screen door and he shrugs, his grin becoming more sheepish, if that's possible. 

"I was out for a walk?" She's reminded of a different time, a different conversation and she actually looks down, expecting to see Zepplin, Gibbo's old dog, behind him. There's no such excuse this time though so she just lifts an eyebrow and stares him down. 

"With a bottle of wine? People will talk, Doctor." 

Her teasing seems to put him on firmer ground and he holds the bottle up to her. She squints as she reads the label. "This is a very nice bottle of red I came across-" 

"You mean one of the ones that you and David conned Vic out of?" She's interested now, is reaching for the bottle and he looks suddenly affronted. 

"He promised not to dob me in." 

Chris steps back, clearing a path for him to step inside. "He promised not to dob you in to Vic," she points out, deciding not to mention anything about no honour among thieves. "He never said anything about anyone else." Tom looks like he might continue complaining but she forestalls him with, "It was when we were on a three day clinic run; you know what they're like. Lots of secrets come out when it's too dark to see past the end of the paddock." 

Tom inclines his head, conceding her point. "It's my last bottle," he says. "Thought you might like to join me for a glass." 

Blinking, Chris knows her surprise is written all over her face. "You're sure you don't want to save it?" 

His eyes meet hers, steady and sure. "I couldn't think of a better reason to crack it open." 

She wants to make a quip about how he seems awfully eager to celebrate getting rid of her but the way he's looking at her makes the crack die on her tongue. Her mouth goes dry and a drink suddenly seems like an excellent idea. "Well then," she says, shocked at how breathless she sounds, "let's hope I can find the glasses and a corkscrew." 

She manages to find both in the kitchen and when she returns to the living room, he's sitting on her couch, looking at some of the pictures, looking like he belongs there. "Success," she says and he takes the corkscrew, opens the bottle easily and pours them both a glass. 

"To new beginnings," he says, "and old friends." 

The last word has a lump rising in Chris's throat and the admittedly delicious wine can't quite wash it down. So she's grateful when Tom speaks first, looks down at the photographs again. "Walking down memory lane?" Chris smiles, which gets both easier and harder when he pulls up one. "Where was this?" 

He sounds a little wistful as he looks at the picture of her and Gibbo, smiling at the camera, all dolled up in the middle of a crowded dance floor. "Queen of the Outback," she says. "Emma won... we were on our way back when..." She stops, doesn't want to go there. She's cried enough tonight for a hundred years. "He's not quite as bad a dancer as Sam... besides, I think what he lacked in ability, he made up for in enthusiasm. " 

Tom chuckles. "Gibbo in a nutshell." He picks up the next photo. "I don't have to ask about this." 

He rolls his eyes, his cheeks looking vaguely pink and Chris laughs. "Anthony and Cleopatra... God, how much eyeliner do I have on there?" 

"Look on the bright side... you, at least, have the legs for a skirt. A toga is no man's friend." 

From what Chris remembers of that night and the admiring looks that had been sent Tom's way, most of the women in Cooper's Crossing had begged to differ. "Did you ever forgive Violet for that?" 

"Well..." He shrugs as he draws the word out, staring at her, just like she's staring at him so she can't miss his eyes moving down towards her lips. "The night didn't end so badly." 

And just like that, she can feel his lips on hers, feel him lean her back over his arm in an exaggeratedly theatrical kiss that had everyone in the pub hooting and hollering, had her tingling from head to foot. 

She breaks the gaze and takes another sip of her wine. 

"I didn't realise you were Kate's bridesmaid," he says as he picks up a picture of the two of them together. That brings back a different kind of memory, one that makes her bristle, even now. 

"Did you know that Paula told me I was too old to be a bridesmaid, that I should really be a matron of honour?" 

Tom's eyes grow wide and he brings his glass to his lips. She knows him well enough to know that he's doing that to hide his laughter; whether it's because of the phrasing or her indignation, she's not sure, but she chooses to believe it's the former. "How dare she?" he says and she chooses to take that as support for her point of view rather than further teasing. 

"I told Kate if she even thought about it, I'd dye her wedding dress purple. Then Nancy told Paula you can't be a matron of honour unless you're married and that stopped that conversation." She'd ignored the few "old maid" comments that she'd heard whispered around. Mostly. 

"Was it a good wedding?" he asks and her jaw drops because she can't believe he hasn't heard that particular story. By the time she's filled him in on the whole Wedding Over The Radio extravaganza, his jaw is equally agape and both their glasses are almost empty. He takes the bottle and refills them, shaking his head. "Is that what they meant when they said the course of true love never did run smooth?" 

"Probably." As someone who'd had a ringside seat to the saga of Geoff and Kate, she was better qualified to say that than most. "But they got their happy ending at least." 

She knows she sound wistful, maybe that's why Tom picks up another picture. "So did they," he says, looking at Sam and Emma dancing in black and white at the Bachelors and Spinsters Ball, just before they'd got together. He blinks then, because underneath that there's another picture, this one of Chris on her own - well, dancing with Sam but Zoe hadn't been able to get him in the frame - her lips curled up in a smile so it must have been one of the rare moments her feet hadn't been underneath Sam's, her head thrown back as she laughed at something he'd said to her. She couldn't remember what now, probably something about one of the older ladies queuing up to dance with Geoff and his obvious discomfort at it. There had been several jokes along those lines that night. "Wow." Tom's voice is soft, almost awestruck and it makes her breath catch in her throat. 

"Zoe took that one. All the black and white ones actually." Even to her own ears, her voice seems a little higher than usual. "She's a very talented photographer. She wants to make a career out of it... I really think she could, she's got a great eye..." 

"Chris." Tom isn't looking at her, is staring at the photograph of her instead. "It's not the photographer. Or the camera." His head turns slowly towards her and what she sees in his face has her stomach swooping. It's been a long time since Tom looked at her like that, but it still has the same effect. 

Chris draws in a deep breath, lets it out slowly as she shifts in her seat, places her glass on the table and sits a little further back. Tom copies her posture, leaves his glass down but he's still holding the picture of her, returns his gaze to it. "I know you have to go," he tells her. "Your dad shouldn't have to move, he needs to be close to his doctors... and you should have this time with him, you absolutely should... but I'm really going to miss you." 

Tears sting the back of Chris's throat but she speaks, she tries for bright and breezy. "You survived well enough before I got here," she reminds him but he doesn't smile. Instead, he's very serious when he looks back at the pile of memories on the table. 

"I thought about this place a lot while I was away," he says quietly. "And you're right, I have a lot of memories here. But the best ones... you're in them. Every one. And I guess when I got home tonight, when I started thinking about waking up tomorrow and you not being here... I wasn't ready for it to end." 

Chris's mouth is dry but she doesn't reach for her drink. Instead she closes her hand over his knee. "I know," she says, because she does. Which is odd, because she actually has more memories of Coopers Crossing without him. But the best ones, the ones she replays over and over at night when she can't sleep - his face is in every single one of them. 

One of his hands closes over hers, his other reaches up to touch her hair. Back in the day, he'd twisted her curls around his finger, but it's too short for that now. Still, the touch sends a shiver up her spine. 

There's a long silence before she whispers, "Tom... what are we doing?" 

He doesn't blink but his fingers don't still in her hair. "Probably nothing clever," he acknowledges. "Should we stop?" 

They should, she knows that. Tomorrow, she's getting on a plane to Melbourne and there's no way of knowing when, or even if, she'll see him again. Just like she knows there's the very real danger that one night won't be enough, that she'll find herself awake in the middle of the night after dreaming of him, of them, aching for his touch. 

But then, that's been happening off and on since he left for Africa, and it's only grown more frequent since his return. 

Besides, she knew this was going to happen the second she opened the door to him. He knew it too - it's why he walked here instead of driving, cover of darkness and no car leaving no evidence for the Bush Telegraph to dissect and yap over. 

"No," she says. "No... I think I'd like one more good memory before I go."

As it turns out, she's left with several good memories, not just one. Like the way he smiles at her words, the way his eyes darken as they drop to her lips. The way they lean into each other, slowly, tentatively, for their first kiss in years. It's as spine tingling as the Anthony and Cleopatra one of years ago and Chris feels herself smiling as she closes her eyes and lets herself get lost in his touch. 

She gets further lost when they eventually make it to the bedroom, when he lies her down on the bed and covers her body with his before kissing a determined path down. His hair, a little longer than in years past, still feels just as soft as she remembered, his touch just as sure, and his memory of what she likes has her arching against him, starbursts of pleasure exploding behind her eyelids. But as good as that feels, it's nothing compared to the feeling when he covers her body with his again, when he slides inside her, her name a groan on his lips. At the same time, she's gasping his name and tears come into her eyes, a result, she thinks, both of the sensation and of the years of wanting this, wanting him, wanting them. Tom doesn't know that, can't know that, and the haze of lust on his face gives way to a frown. When he whispers her name this time, it's a question and she nods as she touches his cheek, slides her hand around to the back of his head. 

"I'm ok," she says but his face shows his doubt so she shifts underneath him, a deliberate move that has his eyes fluttering shut as his breath catches. "Kiss me." She whispers the order as she pulls his head down to hers, and her body moves against him again, giving him a second, silent order that he follows gladly, eagerly even. 

From there, time is lost to sensation and Chris has no idea how much later it is when she presses a kiss to Tom's shoulder as she lies in his arms. His fingers trace circles on her skin, one hand on her hip, the other on her shoulder and she feels him brush a kiss across hair. "I was right," he says. "This was a bad idea." He doesn't sound sorry though and when she glances up, he's smiling. "If I thought it was going to be hard to say goodbye to you before..."

Chris smiles as she shifts again him. "No regrets?" 

This time, the kiss is to her forehead. "Not one." 

Burrowing into his side, Chris finds herself fighting a yawn. "Will you stay?" 

They both know it's playing with fire in a town where the walls have ears but he answers by holding her tighter. "Do you think we'll ever get our timing sorted out?" 

He's staring down at her, so serious that it makes her throat ache with tears, her heart swell with hope. "I'd like that," she whispers. "A lot." 

She feels, as well as hears, him chuckle. "Get some sleep," he says. "We can make some more memories in the morning." 

Chris falls asleep with a smile on her face and in the morning, when they wake and he makes good on his word, she's smiling then too.


End file.
